The Sword of Eärendil
by Earendil1
Summary: A Boy in Middle-Earth Story. Andrew's battered wooden sword is more than a mere plaything. R&R!
1. The Wish

The Sword of Eärendil  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own LOTR or Harry Potter.  
  
The school bell rang, and all of the students in Mrs. O'Brien's 9th period History class left and headed to their lockers. I did the same, walking down the green and white tiled floor to reach the pewter colored compartment. I fiddled with my rather stubborn lock for a while, and managed to get my locker open. After filling my back-pack with the items I'd need for homework, I closed my locker, locked it, and headed home.  
  
While walking down the colorless sidewalk panels, I began to think. I oftentimes thought rather than socialized with others, and add in my above- average intelligence, I wasn't surprised that I was labeled a nerd by nearly the whole student population of Pemmican Junior High. The rest classified me as an intellectual recluse. Either way, my social position granted me precious few friends.  
  
I'm Andrew Greene, and I live in Pemmican, Nebraska. I'm in 8th grade. I'm about 5'3, so I get a lot of short jokes. My hair is Harry Potter-esque, a black and untidy mop.  
  
Once I got home, I sat down and did my homework. "Alright, the Roman Empire in the Flavian dynasty."  
  
By the time I was done with my homework, it was time for dinner. I quickly consumed my meal of BBQ chicken, and went to my room to finish reading The Fellowship of the Ring for the 30th time. It was a great book, and I longed to belong in that world of adventure, instead of the drudgery of modern America. When I finished the book, I went outside to stargaze.  
  
I loved the stars, and always went out at night to observe their beauty. I looked for Cepheus, The King, Ursa Major, the big bear, Ursa Minor, the little bear, all the constellations I could find and identify. After looking for some time I decided to go back inside, but something caught my eye. It was clearly a star, but I had never seen it before in the night sky, and it was so bright. Without thinking I whispered, "I wish that I could go and live in Middle Earth." I went inside.  
  
After looking in my room for a while, I found my wooden sword. I had gotten in at a Renaissance Faire when I was in Georgia on vacation. I played with it a lot, even if toy swords were childish. It was about 3 feet long, and battered from all the playing I had done with it. Today I decided to play a little, fighting off imaginary orcs from my family room. After a half-hour, I went upstairs, brushed my teeth, got my P.J.s on, and went to bed.  
  
When I woke up the next day, I was lying on a bed, in an unfamiliar wooden- walled room, with an old man peering over at me. 


	2. Hi?

The Sword of Eärendil  
  
Chapter 2. Hi?  
  
  
  
I blinked a bit, and rubbed my eyes. As my vision focused, I sat up on the bed. I noticed at first that my feet were dangling off the far end of an awfully short bed. The room itself had a cheery atmosphere to it, portraits of funny-looking people hung on the walls. A single round window rest on one wall, letting some light in. "its day then," I said groggily, still not fully realizing that I was not in my bedroom.  
  
."Armen tol usada?"  
  
"Huh?" I said, suddenly getting pulled from my sleepy state. Looking around, I tried to let these foreign surrounds sink in. They didn't, and I began to start panicking. "Do. You. Speak. English?" I asked the man, hoping that he'd be able to tell me something about where I was.  
  
"L'ran Hybotti, sul?" I began getting worried, I tried again;  
  
"Parlez vous Francais?"  
  
"Whynin holrus?"  
  
The next few minutes consisted of similar conversation, until I heard a door creak open. Looking down a corridor connected to the bedroom I was in, I saw a large, round, green door swing open. A midget came in, curly brown hair on his head and feet. The midget walked up to the old man.  
  
"Serin toll, Gandalf?"  
  
Gandalf? Did he just call that old man Gandalf? I tried communication one more time.  
  
"Elen sil lumenn omen tielvo, Mithrandir," I said, regretting that I had given up on learning Quenya. This got a major reaction, with Gandalf spewing forth Quenya, and I was beginning to feel hopelessly inundated in his sea of gibberish. Slowly it finally struck me; that wish I made came true! I was in Middle Earth!  
  
As I couldn't hope to communicate with Gandalf, I lay back down, and went to sleep.  
  
************************************************************************  
  
When I woke up, it was nighttime. "How are you?" I looked to my left, and saw Gandalf sitting down in a rocking chair, smoking his long pipe.  
  
"You speak English?" I asked, utterly confused.  
  
"No, I put a speech charm on you. You will now be able to speak and understand the Common tongue with complete accuracy."  
  
"Wow," I said to myself. "Gandalf, who was the hobbit that was with you?"  
  
"Frodo Baggins."  
  
After talking with Gandalf for a while, I soon learned that I was in The Shire, exactly two days before Bilbo's eleventy-first birthday party. It seems I was discovered unconscious a day prior in the meadow south of Hobbiton by Gandalf as he rode into the town. I was excited, and wanted to go out, but the wizard advised me to rest, at least until morning. Before he left, he handed me a familiar wooden object.  
  
"You were holding this when you were found," he said, and then left the room.  
  
I put my sword on the ground and went to sleep, too tired to wonder why I had my sword with me in Middle Earth.  
  
The next morning, I woke up before Bilbo, Frodo, and Gandalf. Making my way to Bilbo's third pantry, I gathered up enough food for a fairly large breakfast, even by Hobbit standards. I made Gandalf's tea quite easily, and then began working on the omelets. Thirty minutes later Bilbo walked in. "What are you doing in my kitchen!" he screamed, grabbing a large ladle, he charged at me. Grabbing a dirty frying pan, I began deflecting blow after blow from Bilbo's ladle. Eventually the stout man managed to strike me in the groin, causing me to go down with a quiet 'ow'.  
  
"Honestly Bilbo, you'll wake up the whole Shire with your racket." Gandalf entered the room. Looking down at me, he smiled, and said "I see you have met our visitor?"  
  
"You mean this is that boy you found in the meadow?"  
  
"Duh," I whispered, getting up slowly.  
  
"Duh?" the two asked in unison.  
  
"Oh, never mind," I said, and went back to making breakfast.  
  
"And what do you think your doing?" Bilbo asked.  
  
"Making breakfast, the bacon is almost done."  
  
"I can make my own breakfast," Bilbo said irritably, and pushed me out of the way.  
  
After a rather tense breakfast with the Bagginses and Gandalf, I went outside to explore Hobbiton. 


	3. Merry, Pippin, and a whole lot of Ale

The Sword of Eärendil Chapter 3, Merry, Pippin, and a whole lot of Ale  
  
Standing on Bilbo's porch, I admired the beautiful landscape of Hobbiton. Most of the Hobbit families were up and about. There was a rather large field some distance away from Bag-End, where the preparations for Bilbo's birthday party were being made. Several yellow and white striped pavilions had already been erected, and a large sign that said 'Happy Birthday Bilbo' in the fancy script of upper-crust hobbit-folk.  
  
As I stood there, two fairly young hobbits made their way to Bag-End. I glanced at them, and instantly recognized the pair as Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. "Oi!" called Merry, "Are you the fellow Gandalf found?"  
  
"Yes," I responded, not knowing what to expect from the two notorious troublemakers.  
  
"Er, we were wondering if you'd like to join us for an ale or two, at the Green Dragon Inn." I agreed, and before I knew it, I was at the Green Dragon.  
  
A rather fat, jaunty hobbit approached the three of us at our table. "So, what'll it be today Mister Brandybuck?"  
  
"Um, the usual. Pippin?"  
  
"I'll have the usual as well,"  
  
"And what shall your friend here have?"  
  
Merry whispered something into the bartender's ear. A somewhat evil grin fell across the fat man's face, and he quickly ran off to fetch us our drinks.  
  
"Merry, what did you just order for me?"  
  
"Oh, don't worry, just a specialty ale is all." Merry and Pippin looked at each other, trying to contain the fits of laughter that were about to follow. The Bartender, who I later learned was named Roth Miggs, came back, hand both Merry and Pippin a mug of ale. What he handed me was well, different. It was green, and was constantly bubbling and frothing. The two hobbits quickly downed their mugs and ordered more.  
  
Ten minutes and six mugs of ale later, I was still staring blankly at the concoction of green-bubbly stuff. "C'mon, *Hic* take a sip, it'll taste *Hic* good," Pippin said, clearly quite drunk. Still not entirely sure of what it would do, I decided, against my better judgment, to take a gulp of the stuff. An intense burning filled my throat, and it spread to the very tips of my fingers. This pain subsided after a few seconds, and a brilliantly delicious aftertaste fill my mouth. It was incredibly, well, awesome! I had to have more.  
  
By the time I had finished the mug, my body had gotten used to the strange burning, and so I only got the aftertaste. I ordered two more, and Roth got progressively entertained. After I finished my third refill, I decided to leave. Merry and Pippin followed me out, and were laughing quite loudly, and pointing drunkenly at me. Roth excused himself from work, and followed me. 


End file.
